In an abandoned baseball field, seven minutes drive time from Bridgeville high school, two boys are sprawled about the pitcher's mound. Their breathing is heavy and labored from hours of practice, and with every exhalation there is a visible swirling of air from their lips. The freezing temperature, while not acceptable for real games, was well welcomed when the boys were hitting pop flies and letting grounders slide into their mitts, but the way it made their lungs burn when they inhale now makes them wish the sun were out in full shine.

One of the boys, a raven locked child nicknamed "Smudge," rolls onto his side, his breathing struggling to attain normal. "Look, Rusty," he says, locking his gaze with his fire haired friend, "I think it's a bad idea." Rusty, whose eyes are unfocused with fatigue, takes a moment to respond, momentarily forgetting what they were arguing about before.

Oh, that's right, he thinks, the conversation they had before practice coming back in a rush. Smudge doesn't want me to go see that team's practice. He brings his fists to his eyes and rubs, trying, albeit futilely, to rid them of the built up sweat.

"That's," he squints at his best friend, who is staring at him expectantly. He won't change his mind unless Rusty assures him for hours. But he doesn't have hours. He needs to get home and change before going to the practice.

"Smudge, it's just a practice; I don't understand why it's such a big deal. I'm not going to be doing anything but watching! Why are you so concerned?" he gulps in a rush of air, his breath all but gone from his body.

Smudge shakes his head, massaging the point between his eyes. "Henry," he answers, bracing himself for a barrage insults against his brother-in-law. Smudge is not disappointed.

He pops open an eye to find Rusty glaring at him, his face matching his hair entirely.

"Henry?" he asks incredulously, his top lip rising in contempt. "Henry, the guy our age, my ex- best friend, the guy who's dating my sister? He's the reason you're fighting this so hard?" He shakes his head, knitting his eyebrows together in a controlled rage.

Smudge feels a tinge of pain at Rusty's hatred. They had all been friends in middle school, back when Henry had been just invested in making the high school baseball team with them. But when they arrived in their freshman year, they discovered that the baseball program had been cut. Rusty and Smudge had been devastated, but they decided that they would keep prasticing together, and maybe then they would be good enough to do college ball.

But Henry stopped caring. And when he started dating Rusty's sister, Princess, their friendship was over. They had nothing in common but baseball, and that was a long gone hope.

Smudge still missed him though. They were the three musketeers, and now it was only him and Rusty, practicing two hours every day. It was not something Smudge had envisioned for himself and his best friend back in elementary.

Smudge quickly raises his hands up in the motion for Rusty to calm down. "Rusty, man, look. Just listen to me." he raises an eyebrow in question, and Rusty nods, though his jaw is still clenched and his arms are crossed.

"Okay, well Henry told me that-," Rusty doesn't let him finish.

"Henry is a known liar."

"Yes, well Henry had proof, okay? So shut up." Rusty shrugs his shoulders, barely able to contain the unresolved anger at Henry from boiling over. If his hair was in it's usual spiky position, and not weighed down with sweat, Smudge could've sworn he would've looked like a blazing campfire, complete with the crackling electricity that surrounds it.

"Alright. Henry told me that he went to one of their practices in eighth grade, when he was still interested in the game." Rusty lets out a short, chirping laugh.

"Yeah, and I bet he told you all the Thunder Clan beat him up, right?" Smudge shakes his head, resisting the urge to make fun of the team name "Thunder Clan." He thinks it's ridiculous, but he would never tell Rusty that. They're his favorite team in the district.

"No, he didn't." Rusty looks surprised as he hears Smudge's words, but he regains his stony expression after a second.

"Maybe they should have. He's too much of a rich pretty boy anyways."

"So are we, you know. The rich part, I mean," Smudge answers. Both of the boys live in the Twoleg area, where all the rich folks gather for the school year. The kids from the Thunder Clan team, even the whole school, all live near the forest. It isn't a nice place, but those who can't afford Twoleg houses move there.

Sometimes Smudge believes that Rusty wishes he isn't so wealthy, so he can move to Thunder high school and join their team. But he can't do that; they would never accept him. The loaded kids go to Bridgeville; everyone knows that.

Rusty shrugs his shoulders, so Smudge continues. "Henry said he saw some of the team beat up a kid from another school. He wasn't even a baseball player, but once they found out he went to Riverview they sprung on him." As Smudge talks, Rusty can feel the anger fading from his body. He's not angry at the boy in front of him. He just wants to get out of here and see his favorite team before they turn in for the night.

"Okay, look, Smudge," Rusty says, stretching to a standing position. His muscles scream, but he can't afford to sit here while the minutes tick by. Time to man up, he thinks. Smudge looks surprised at his friends calm demeanor. "I don't want to stand here with you, arguing about a boy I go out of my way to avoid. I know you're concerned about me and all, but I want to go. I need to go. Do you understand that?"

Smudge begrudgingly nods, defeat shadowing over his face. "Whatever." He raises and starts to walk back to his truck, but seems to think better of it and turns around for parting words to his friend. "Just try to make yourself look like a Thunder student, okay?"

Rusty nods enthusiastically, a smile stretching across his face. Finally! He thinks, checking his watch. He only has ten minutes to get to the fields before the practice is over. Oh well, no time for a change, Rusty thinks, hoping with all his might that they will just mistake him for an elementary student.